


(you never know who will love) the person you hide

by themetgayla



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, bi amy, figuring life out, fluff I think?, idk why i wrote this, it’s just cute y’all, mtf, trans!Jake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 17:41:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17411357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themetgayla/pseuds/themetgayla
Summary: It all started when he got his hands on his  makeup when he was seven years old.(aka, Jake realises he’s not a man.)





	(you never know who will love) the person you hide

**Author's Note:**

> riGHT so this is probably gonna suck but i had to try?? i’m studying a gender and sexuality course at university level right now and i was making notes for a lecture and suddenly i had this idea. i’ve read about ftm trans jake once but i’ve never seen jake realising he’s not a man.
> 
> anyways i thought it might be fun to write. so here it is. please remember that i have tried my very best to portray “jake” in the way i think (s)he’d act. i hope it’s not too shitty.

Jake doesn’t know what to do. He thinks he might not want to be a man anymore but he _doesn’t know what to do_ . He should tell someone, right? _Wait, does that make me a woman now?_

 

_Oh god._

 

He’s spiralling, and he doesn’t think he can stop himself. It’s not like he’s talked about any of this to anyone, not even the departmentally-mandated therapist he sees every other week. (Him and Sarah have a great relationship, and he actually really likes her, but does he really want to share his secret?)

 

It all started when he got his hands on his mother’s makeup when he was seven years old. As soon as he laid eyes on that bright red lipstick and sparkly brown eyeshadow he spent all day “painting his face”, surprising his mother when she walked in from work all dressed up in her heels and a skirt claiming he was “the prettiest princess in all the land”.

 

His mother told him he looked beautiful, and he’d responded with a bright smile that he wanted to be a woman “just like her”, so he could wear fun clothes and makeup. She told him that he could be whatever he wanted, but should perhaps wait till he was a little bit older to decide. It had gone over his head at the time, but now he thinks about it, he supposes that was the day it all started.

 

Jake had stumbled through high school, convinced that he was making some sort of mistake. Why did he look at girls and wish he had their luscious locks and squishy boobs? He was supposed to want to touch them (which he did), not _have them._

 

The older he got, the more it haunted him. He hated his flat chest, so much so that he’d steal his mother’s bras when she was out and stuff them with tissue to imitate having boobs of his own. He’d parade around the house in her heels, pitching his voice higher than usual and performing daily tasks as a new person.

 

He didn’t even tell Gina when she’d found a bag of makeup stuffed at the back of his underwear drawer. (He still doesn’t know how she found it, or why he didn’t just tell her. She’s the most accepting person he knows, and he’s pretty sure she identifies as a spirit of some kind.)

 

It’s only recently, now that he’s old enough to google the right things and figure out what the hell is going on with him, that he’s panicking. He knows for sure that he’s not a man.

 

(Maybe he should stop thinking of himself as ‘he’ now.)

 

 _She_ — she decides after a long night of staring up at the ceiling, Amy slumbering peacefully, draped across her chest — feels like her fiancée needs to know. They’re due to get married in three weeks and _oh god_ , Amy’s already got a smart tuxedo picked out with that “fun salmon lining” that she loves so much.

 

She can’t do this to her, right? She can’t mess up Amy’s wedding binder, the one the woman has spent the past months editing meticulously. Not _this close_ to the big day.

 

She’s not sure she can go through with the marriage as a man, though, because that’s not who she truly is. She’s Jay now, not _Jake,_ and surely she owes it to Amy to tell her.

 

 _Shit shit shit_ . What if Amy doesn’t want her anymore? Amy’s not a _lesbian_ , Amy’s straight. Amy only likes men. Amy fell in love with a man, not a woman.

 

Amy doesn’t want her and— and now she’s hyperventilating, chest heaving as she sinks down on the cold kitchen tiles. She takes gasping breaths, forcing oxygen into her lungs as her hands tremble and tears dream down her pale cheeks.

 

Before she knows it, there are soft hands on her biceps, telling her to _breathe_ , guiding her gently through her panic. “Breathe, Jake, _breathe_ ,” comes Amy’s soft, melodic voice, and fuck, she knows it’s meant to calm her down but _Jake Jake Jake_ is circulating round her mind like a drone and it won’t fucking _stop._

 

“No!” Jay cries, pushing Amy away with one swift shove, curling up into herself as her fiancée recoils, hurt and shocked. The younger woman regains her composure quickly, masking her pain with a focused expression and a few sharp scratches at her wrist.

 

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Amy whispers, voice small and a hesitant. “You need to breathe though, okay? Breathing is good, breathing is important. You’re okay, you’re safe,” she mumbles, repeating the words like a mantra until the screaming in Jay’s head dies down, and all she can hear is the not-so-violet thudding of her heart and her quiet breaths breaking the silence.

 

“I’m sorry.” Jay doesn’t dare look at Amy, too afraid of the hatred she’s sure she’ll see in her deep brown eyes. Instead, she gazes down at her hands, unconsciously digging her nails into her palms. It’s not until Amy carefully laces their fingers together that Jay risks a glance upwards.

 

Her fiancée is watching her curiously, nothing but love and concern shining in her eyes. There’s no hatred, not even when Jay narrows her eyes and stares right into Amy’s soul.

 

But now she has to explain herself and _god_ , this is not going to end well. She knows the following conversation will end with her fleeing Amy’s apartment building and probably handing in her resignation the next day, before catching the earliest flight back to stupid old Florida where she can cry in a hot tub and munch on a soggy burrito.

 

It’s now or never though, huh?

 

“Amy, we need to talk.”

 

* * *

 

Ten minutes later, they’re sat on the couch, steaming mugs of chamomile tea clutched in their respective grasps. Amy’s sat beside her, a supportive hand on her thigh as she struggles to swallow the lump in her throat and allow the words she so desperately doesn’t want to say out into the apartment.

 

“Amy, I—I’m…”

 

“It’s okay sweetie, take your time,” she coos, stroking her hands through Jay’s thick, silky hair. (It’s an act of comfort she so desperately needs, a reassuring touch of love to guide her safely through the storm swirling inside her mind.)

 

Jay takes a deep breath, and— “Amy, I’m not a man.”

 

Silence.

 

And then— “Uh, okay? Could you, uh, maybe, elaborate a bit?”

 

The brunette pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and wills the tears threatening to well in her eyes to just _go away_. “Well, I think I—I think I might be a woman. I’m so sorry for not telling you before and this must seem like such a shock, especially so close to our wedding. I know you had a whole binder full of details and I saw you’d picked me out a tux with that salmon lining you love so much, but I’d really prefer a dress. Anyways I just wanted to tell you to get it off my chest but, um, I know you won’t want to be with me now so I’ll just go. I’m sorry for wasting your time and—” She moves to leave, rising from the couch on shaking legs, before Amy grabs her by the wrist and tugs her back down.

 

Before Jay knows what’s happening, her fiancée is swinging her leg over her waist and fusing their lips together. The older woman wraps her arms around Amy’s neck and melts into the kiss, surprised and relieved at the response.

 

(Does this mean Amy doesn’t hate her?)

 

“I’m sorry, I just really had to kiss you,” the brunette confesses, stroking her thumb across Jay’s cheekbone. “I’m so proud of you for telling me, and listen, darling, I don’t love you _any less_ than before. I love you no matter what. I don’t care whether you’re a man or a woman or neither, okay? I respect who you are, and if that’s a woman, then of course that’s okay.”

 

Tears run down Jay’s cheeks, dripping down into her neck as Amy’s gentle words seep into her skin. Amy still loves her. Amy still loves _her,_  not him, _her._  Despite the reassuring words, words she’s been yearning to year for the past years, she still has doubts; _what if she decides later that she doesn’t like me? She’s straight, and I can’t give her what a man can, not in the same way._

 

“But, I’m a woman now, Amy. You’re straight, you don’t like women.”

 

“Actually, I’m bisexual,” Amy announces, her eyes twinkling kindly as she rubs her thumb gently over Jay’s knuckles.

 

Jay isn’t shocked; she should have known. God, she is _not_ a good detective. All the memories of Amy commenting on Cate Blanchett’s body and voice come rushing back to her. (Yeah, she really should have known.)

 

“Yeah, me too,” she finds herself confessing, suddenly empowered. Amy squeezes her hand tightly and beams, her smile lighting up the room.

 

It’s been a night of discovery, and Jay doesn’t think she could be any happier.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i hope y’all enjoyed! i had to slip in care blanchett bc she’s such a daddy. 
> 
> comments fuel me! let me know what you thought!


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